So what's it they have, what's it all about
Work for the bossman.
Use your brawn Earn your pittance,
Then eat, Pub, drink, **** and pay the bills
Go footie, shout and scream, at one with your tribe
then  go sit in front of the telly, play at family
Week is done
Till the morrow when you do it all again

How about a soap opera, you direct and act
Gotta a Royal down the road ripe for the taking
Lets go invade, see how the other halves lives
Come, lets all join and become Kingmakers
Under our ***** thumbs he goes, we pull the strings
Entertainment for the masses, beats our mundane cages

For once, we are the bosses and can pull the strings
Knowledge is Power and its all here in Mao's Red Book
Lies, fabrication, distortions and misinformation
Disinformation, half-truths, slander it ain't no matter
Everything he says will be taken down and used against him
This is control at our finger tips, this is power to play with
He's going through the Red mill, drilled and ground into dust

Look we've got him as the puppet, we destroy all his trappings
So gather round and join the fun, this is us like God
Lights, action, now you do this and this and watch us play him
what do you mean puppet ain't moving or re-acting
OK let's do this, you go there and you do this and do this now
Still no action, OK let's try this, if you go there and say ah
You drive here, you stand there, you watch here, you stand
Nothing still, OK you come here, you put this here
Still nothing, This puppet is NUMB, this puppetting is no fun

They had drawn up the master plan, written their ****** script
The puppet looked and laughed, what a bunch of prime morons
No substance, no value system, no morality or basic sense
Infantile, one track minded sociopaths full of flaws and manure
Go back to your drinking and ******* and your mundanity
The united pack of crooks, ****, racists and the vacuous coerced

Go look after the Leading Lady stuck with rehearsals and scripts
The imagined romantic interest paying debts for UK residency
Waiting for the Prince to come running and tomfoolery begins
The bit part actors are still playing, too stupid to realize
The control is on them, their time energy and effort all a sham
Our Directors are directing making it up as they go along
The supporting actress are still hopping and hoping
The new characters are still buying false scripts and playing
Playing with themselves as Puppet stands and watches it all

They wheel out their demented scribes and brain dead peoters
To write dirges, glooms, ******* and negativities galore
Casting their dark fantasies and the rancid spittles of their dregs
Muds from the festered pools of their putrid minds dresses up
Ready to visit nightmares of their making from their darknesses
Areas thankfully unknown to a mind and soul untainted, unsoiled
As is their bitter lives, valueless breeding and hate and prejudices One ignorance and neurotic existence, the depravities of depraves..

Poor, poor imbeciles, they really don't have much in their lives
Illusions and delusions by the bucket loads, anything would do
To remove them from their sad, miserable sorry realities
Hey its Clockwork orange, we are all stars in our *****
Diversions to their mundane, unrewarding and depressing realities
Their frustrations and powerlessness, their insignificance
At last a vent for their frustrated lives, miseries loves company
A release valve for pains of centuries being underdogs and serfs
A safe playground for psychos, control and pain in abundance
Let's call it Revolution and add Republic to make it more palatable

Down at the palace of Attrition, a blameless man sits and muses
Crazed dogs of war at the gates, salivating insanely, bloodthirsty
Watching Controllers tieing chains to masses and jerking them
Into frenzied hysteria, nothing beats permitted wickedness shared
Dropping poisons and acids into hungry jaws, patting heads
Shouting rallying calls, we got the Bastille of the blinds going on
Scientists please take notes, this is Herd mentality and Groupthink
This is how to manipulate the masses and incite Hate unawares
Majority wins here, this is Democracy, this is people power

Do, you are ******, don't, you are ******, Hate abides all.
Puppet sees injustices but better to play dumb and numb
They can't abide a black do well, hate spews from fear
Hate festered by the unique decency of a successful blackman
Who had all they wished for but could never have or be
Riddled with lust and envy they merely went on to steal his
But that wasn't enough, the bullies and cowards had to ruin.
Under the pretext of them and us, blue versus Red they lied
Rabid racists takes another black man down, green bottle falls

Man proposes, God disposes, UK, KKK now play god
Thy will will be done O'Lord, I am but your servant
It's rather flattering being The Real Deal in this production
Confirmation of differences betwixt Gifted and the Depraves
A Travesty full of sound, false images and fury by the loonies
A Red Racist Production by Idiots and psychos for fools and sociopaths.

Lights, camera, action
Yawn.......................

I wish I could find
Another
Word
One plucked from a
Chicken or
Snagged to a line
But all I have is
Drift
You
Laughing
Like a drunken
Gondolier
This momentous
Rise of horns
And the little
Spittles of foam
That froth at
Our legs
The sea
Creates you
A scarf
And you turn
To look at me
Your eyes
Drifting
Through the notes
Around me
Sweet
Music
Who are you
If not mine
To keep

In the house of the unsaid
Tears are glass beads that drop
The ***** on the bone china

Blood spittles the lips, hair
Raises the dead the cut
Rosary roils and dents

Harmony’s rumour spouts
In the sink. The clock’s twitching
Strikes a mongoosed hour.

And the scattered stations run
The rude wood splinters
As the unsaying are floored

Clouded eyes pain the glass
Outside the house, bare
Trees are leaved with ravens.

In the house of the unsaid
Tears are glass beads that drop
The ***** on the bone china

Blood spittles the lips, hair
Raises the dead the cut
Rosary roils and dents

Harmony’s rumour spouts
In the sink. The clock’s twitching
Strikes a mongoosed hour.

And the scattered stations run
The rude wood splinters
As the unsaying are floored

Clouded eyes pain the glass
Outside the house, bare
Trees are leaved with ravens.

In the house of the unsaid
Tears are glass beads that drop
The ***** on the bone china

Blood spittles the lips, hair
Raises the dead the cut
Rosary roils and dents

Harmony’s rumour spouts
In the sink. The clock’s twitching
Strikes a mongoosed hour.

And the scattered stations run
The rude wood splinters
As the unsaying are floored

Clouded eyes pain the glass
Outside the house, bare
Trees are leaved with ravens.

There is ugly in every beautiful town.
There are stone quarries, electrical wires, and spittles of trash
on every forsaken corner of the United States.
There is a cloud machine amidst fields of green
and wind mills with long milling legs
that spread like the slashing ceiling fan
in my hometown living room.

There are brown patches of grass
and seasoned bearded hobos, too.
There are minimum wage jobs, and minimum wage folks
waging the war against crisp, shuttered homes .02 miles
down the way.

Billboards, more billboards
crowd the view.
Dealerships, car dealerships
speckle urban seas.
Me, I do live for variety.

In the house of the unsaid
Tears are glass beads that drop
The ***** on the bone china

Blood spittles the lips, hair
Raises the dead the cut
Rosary roils and dents

Harmony’s rumour spouts
In the sink. The clock’s twitching
Strikes a mongoosed hour.

And the scattered stations run
The rude wood splinters
As the unsaying are floored

Clouded eyes pain the glass
Outside the house, bare
Trees are leaved with ravens.

His face and the wall
attempt to operate in the same space
at the same time.
As his head reels back,
fragments of tooth are left
in a smatter.

Blood spittles from his mouth
When he tries to form words.
The world is crimsidescent
when he sees with his "third eye".

His face
the wall
and he can't go around.

In the house of the unsaid
Tears are glass beads that drop
The ***** on the bone china

Blood spittles the lips, hair
Raises the dead the cut
Rosary roils and dents

Harmony’s rumour spouts
In the sink. The clock’s twitching
Strikes a mongoosed hour.

And the scattered stations run
The rude wood splinters
As the unsaying are floored

Clouded eyes pain the glass
Outside the house, bare
Trees are leaved with ravens.

In the house of the unsaid
Tears are glass beads that drop
The ***** on the bone china

Blood spittles the lips, hair
Raises the dead the cut
Rosary roils and dents

Harmony’s rumour spouts
In the sink. The clock’s twitching
Strikes a mongoosed hour.

And the scattered stations run
The rude wood splinters
As the unsaying are floored

Clouded eyes pain the glass
Outside the house, bare
Trees are leaved with ravens.

I leaked little house, flipping and spotting out tiny little words, little fragments of possibilities, in the resonance of a cello, in the ever growing weeds between the sidewalks, shoe laces, crushes, freckled faces, ahhh me, a small thing to remember, a walk down the street!! a walk, seemed leaps and bounds, of that thing@!!! why that thing? Why memory? Can they be washed away , spittles little bits of *****,
ahhhh, ahhh long lonely night, of heaps of green, clean, watered pipe of decency, reflections, necessities, degrees of truth and reactions, sharpening of lenses, pointing out and covering up flaws, accentuations, ahhh ahhh long longly me
ahhhh burst, ahhh inflate, to tumble over when not levitating off the ground, to fall off the bride with dirt on knees, and to emerge with a different walk, a different attitude, ahhh lonely walks, not necessarily of abandonment, of priceless cheap desire, however a feeling consuming and leaching to burnt toast and milk in the morning, itching, itching itching, and itch?
Ahhh lonely night, little bits of discs, little bits of discs? I don't remember which, screen, don't remember where thats been, who left it? gone? is it on? input cable one?
Ahh lonely night

I leaked little house, flipping and spotting out tiny little words, little fragments of possibilities, in the resonance of a cello, in the ever growing weeds between the sidewalks, shoe laces, crushes, freckled faces, ahhh me, a small thing to remember, a walk down the street!! a walk, seemed leaps and bounds, of that thing@!!! why that thing?  Why memory?  Can they be washed away , spittles little bits of *****,

ahhhh, ahhh long lonely night, of heaps of green, clean, watered pipe of decency, reflections, necessities, degrees of truth and reactions, sharpening of lenses, pointing out and covering up flaws, accentuations, ahhh ahhh long longly me

ahhhh burst, ahhh inflate, to tumble over when not levitating off the ground, to fall off the bride with dirt on knees, and to emerge with a different walk, a different attitude, ahhh lonely walks, not necessarily of abandonment, of priceless cheap desire, however a feeling consuming and leaching to burnt toast and milk in the morning, itching, itching itching, and itch?  

Ahhh lonely night, little bits of discs, little bits of discs?  I don't remember which, screen, don't remember where thats been, who left it?  gone?  is it on? input cable one?

Ahh lonely night

The Morning Sun ©


               Stanza 1 :

The short hand of my big,round clock
Diligently whirred the hour of nine,
And the unfailing sun - faithful to her calling,
Rose again to shine.

               Stanza 2 :

Arghh ! The tendrils of her luminous rays
Sprayed discomfort - exceptionally piercing,
The moment of silence aided the voices of
Chirping birds perching the leeward side of
A neighbouring roof,
Adding somewhat a lustre, to the
Unwavering heat that fortunately found a
Path through the holes of my crisscross net.
Unbidden,I refused to adore her glistening
Grace,
Wallowing in selfpride,I declined my warm
Expression of gratitude for all of her
Kindness during the rainy days.
With overwhelming disdain, I let low the
Fringes of a yellow transparent curtain.

               Stanza 3 :

Nevertheless, undeterred as ever, she
Increased the dazzling filament of her
Toturing flame,
And all I ever did was gawk intermittently,
At the grandeur of her charismatic display
As she waxed and waned delightfully.
Causing tiny,glints to appear on the
Edges of swaying tassles that adorned the
See - through veils of my living room.
Arghh ! There she goes again - her
Untouchable forelocks made me scoff : they
Were as deadly as those oily,boiling,spittles
Dripping down from the cut - tops of
Long-lived vulcanoes,
Which no man ever dared tame.

                Stanza 4 :

The sweeping swish of daytime into
Noonshift, shapelessly radiated those lines
Of light through the scuds of sheepish grey,
As indifferent as ever : no soul, dead or
Living has ever been fortunate to wear her a
Royal crown - oh nay !
I marvel in awe as I unwillingly did watch,
My poor, sullen eyes could droop at some
Point,
Inwardly jealous of her daily, scorchy, touch.


Jahmenmuze.

there's a hole in my head
where the gamma gets in
tickles my brain
giggles my skin
turns my insides
to outside in
throws all my cares
into the wind
curls my hair
into corn rows
florescent's the jam
between my toes
spittles the spine
blows its own nose
grabs tightly my gizzard
then let's it go
adds purple highlights
to the hair on my face
takes my overbite
and sets it in place
makes me want to run
although there's no race
all through the hole in my head
filled by these gamma rays

You breathe in. Deeply. Slowly.
The air here is still pure.
You can smell the forests.
You can smell the mock orange in the garden,
successor to the lilacs, now faded and brown.

You breathe out. Slowly, with purpose.
Spittles of poison leave you.
The anger. The fear. The uncertainty.
A part of you relaxes. Not enough,
but a start.

You breathe in. Deeply. Slowly.
There is peace in the Vermont air.
This is why you came, though you did not know it at the time.
For the peace. Unable to find your own,
you came to a place where peace is the natural state,
a place where you could breathe it in
with each swelling of your lungs.

You breathe out, slowly, with purpose.
This is what you have learned,
violence in anything, even breath,
is a form of ******. Of spirit, Of your spirit at least.
You have seen enough of it in your lifetime,
and your tolerance is low. The pain and the anger
always lies near the surface. It is an act of will
to keep it at bay.

You breathe in. Slowly. Deeply.
The mountain air fills you.
“I look to the mountains from whence cometh my help”
declares the Psalmist and you breathe his words,
knowing your only real power comes in love,
in peace, no matter the world’s penchant for anger.
You refuse to make that anger your own, and so
you breathe in the morning peace
as you clutch the cross around your neck.

You breathe out. slowly, with purpose.
This time, this breathing, is a girding of arms,
for the anger still lives beneath the surface,
and you will never **** it. It has a life beyond your own.
Your own pain and experiences will never leave you.
No amount of breathing will expel it,
so the trick is to breathe it out, just enough
that it can become a thing controlled,
put to work, harnessed by love, power
to wrestle the darkness around you.

You breathe in. Slowly. Deeply.
Unsure of the battle, but sure of the cause,
sure of the value of every soul you encounter,
even those who weld their swords seeking
submission and blood, blended by their own anger,
unfamiliar with history and gospel. You breathe in strength,
the power of sunshine over the quarry.
You breath in the words of your youth
and they become sinew and muscle.
God in you. finally. Again.

You breathe out, slowly, with purpose.
You need this renewal. Every day you need it.
and that is in ordinary times. Today
you need it more. Your weakness,
your easy anger is not a thing to be purged,
only a thing to be controlled. There is work to be done
and work needs its fuel, it’s passion,
a flame fed, but not too much. You breathe more of it out,
feeling your soul calm, knowing when to stop,
in that place between peace and war inside yourself
where change without carnage becomes possible.

Sometimes I dream of wondrous things,
That flood the room with roaring waves
And cool deep waters of the mighty seas

Neon fish now nest in my kitchen sink
Eels dance along the dining table
From my mouth rise bubbles of blue and green

But other times the ocean spins away down the bathroom drain
Leaving a bristling heat, a cloudless sky
And desert winds that rough up the window panes

Oranges of fire, deep breath of life fire
Leaving spittles of burn on the tips of my nose
As I now travel along the sands, a caravan rider

There are things I dream,
Dreams of such wondrous things
Of colors gold, red and aquamarine

Of dazzling lights that drip from the walls
Soaked deeply into the cupboard,
Filled to the brim, all the halls

Like jewels, the dreams sparkle with life
So unexpected each time sunlight hits my eyes
That all I wake up to, is again
just white

Charlatan Charles Darwin's mutational speculations made Humans far weaker, far less robust, far less equipped to cope with weather extremes, cholera (from a simple bacterium that corrupts fetid water & spoiled food), pertussis, pox & a plethora of maladies that our alleged simian kin are oblivious to. Darwin's flunkies also NEVER address the 4,000 genetical disorders unique to the inferior version of Man imprisoned on Earth. Darwin's lick-spittles NEVER wax liberally about mineral evolution or stellar evolution. Chucky Cheese Darwin's ***-wipes NEVER explain why most simians are scurvy-resistant as they produce vitamin C, yet superior Humans (who lack the ability to produce C) suffer & die from clinical & sub-clinical scurvy by the millions. Evolutionists loose control of their weak, swollen, compromised, edematous, inflamed urinary bladders at the broaching of polystrate. It's time to consign to pasture Darwinian virtual science and return to facts. A fact is a fact only when it can be mathematically verified. /// Horrific! Abortion clinics use restaurant-grade garbage disposals.